


Mark of Loyalty

by botanicalTJ



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Head Injury, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Merthur - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Merlin, Tenderness, and im gay, arthur is gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:07:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27215413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/botanicalTJ/pseuds/botanicalTJ
Summary: Once again, Merlin risks his life for the king's son.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 232





	Mark of Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this is a short one-shot to celebrate that i just finished season 1 of merlin. so, assume this takes place during that time period, because i haven't watched further than that!
> 
> hope you enjoy :)

"Come here."

The mud leaves damp patches on the knees of his trousers, but the tone of Arthur's voice leaves no room for hesitation. Merlin crawls across the grass and all but collapses against the prince's body. The movement sets his ribs on fire, drawing out a choked sound from deep in his throat. Unlike the king's son, he doesn't have layers of fabric and metal to keep his body from becoming mangled. 

Strong hands are holding his face, letting his cheek rest for a moment against the front of Arthur's tunic. It's softer than it looks, just like his hands, just like him. Merlin's thoughts are fuzzy and so is his vision when Arthur tilts his chin up to look at him properly. A shame, really, how features so nice can be tilted so askew. 

"How many times is that, that you've risked your life to save mine?" Notes of disapproval drip into each word, but Merlin is used to it. Hard to please a man with a rose gold sheen over his entire life. Right now, he cares less about royal sanction and more about the thumb stroking his cheekbone, across the apple of his cheek when he grimaces at the flare of pain in his chest. Arthur's voice lingers in his ears, echoing over him too far and too close to his brain all at once. "I suppose ordering you to stop wouldn't do any good."

He feels like he might collapse if he moves an inch, but Merlin shakes his head anyways. "Not a chance, sire," he says, his jest clear even through the trembling in his voice. He clamps his mouth shut when the words are out, gritting his teeth, the very slight upturn of his lips becoming deep lines in his brow. God, he feels sick. 

"You think falling off a horse and getting kicked in the head is the true mark of loyalty?" Arthur's sarcasm is clear but the way he brushes hair off Merlin's forehead to examine the bruise blossoming at his hairline is nothing but gentle; so much more gentle, he knows, than those hands have ever touched another servant. The same can be said about the way he hoists Merlin up in his arms, fingers careful not to nudge his sides. It hurts anyways, but hurting in the strength of Arthur's hold is different than kneeling on the cold ground, so he stays silent.

"A misguided arrow is unlikely to kill me in the first place, you know," Arthur tuts as he lifts Merlin ever so easily onto his own steed. Merlin's hands come to clutch the reigns, tight enough to compensate for the world spinning around him, but they're brushed away when Arthur takes his place behind him. King's son or not, Merlin is relieved to have something to lean back against. He feels so unbalanced, barely able to sit up straight, but Arthur is solid and  _ warm _ and it doesn't hurt quite so much to inhale anymore. 

"We didn't see who shot it," Merlin argues, despite barely having the strength to move. No, a ranged weapon meant for a goose or a fox would not have killed Arthur were it to strike him, but arrows don't soar through the air out of the blue, and they don't disappear upon hitting a target— in this case, the ground. "We don't know what it was." 

"Still no reason to jump off your horse," Arthur fires right back, his arm snaking around Merlin's torso to hold him straight. "You looked foolish, like you were trying to fly." His critique is real but so is the concern behind it, so is the tenderness in which he keeps his servant from crumpling to the ground.

"You're welcome." They begin to move, and Merlin looks straight ahead to keep his senses about him as much as he can. His own horse is trotting behind them, hooves thumping against the ground at a steady pace, unfazed by having just kicked Merlin's brain around in his skull. At least it hadn't actually been an arrow to the chest this time, or whatever it was trying to damn the kingdom's fate. Uther Pendragon had no idea just how valuable the prince's servant boy was to his livelihood. 

"Hush," Arthur orders, not unkindly. His arm adjusts to rest on Merlin's waist instead of his sore ribs. It isn't doing a thing to hold him up but that fact goes unspoken. When they arrive back to Camelot, Arthur's hand will move to grip his arm in a less protective fashion and he'll be escorted to Gaius by someone much less important than the royal son; but for now, it is only them and their horses and an ache that bears no significance to any of the fresh injuries the forest had given. Merlin just shuts his eyes and breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! xx


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